by Amy Cross
"My sister," I mutter. "My sister needs my help."
"Precisely," he replies. "The knowledge that your sister is in trouble has undoubtedly brought your old emotions back, at least for now. I imagine that previously, when you were working at the massage parlor, you were in something of a daze. You were still yourself, obviously, but perhaps you were more accepting of things that you'd otherwise reject."
"Will I go back to being like that?" I ask.
"I wish I could tell you," he replies. "As I explained earlier, you're stuck halfway between life and death, so the usual rules might not apply to you and there's definitely going to need to be some more research." Reaching into a bag on the passenger seat, he pulls out what appears to be a small metal crown with various spikes and electrodes attached to the sides. "How would you describe your pain threshold?" he asks as he makes a few adjustments, before plugging the crown into the car's cigarette lighter. "High, medium or low?"
"I'll do any test you want," I say firmly, "after we get my sister out of Simeon Wilde's place."
"Oh, she's out of there already," he replies, still working on the crown. "Didn't I tell you?"
"Where is she?" I ask.
"She's in one of your old haunts, actually," he continues, "just a couple of streets away. Carmella Mellioni went and purchased your sister from Simeon, just as she purchased you a few years ago. I doubt she's aware of the link, though. It's probably just a coincidence, albeit one that has perhaps been nudged along by the city's rather unusual circumstances. Still, I can assure you, she's -"
"But if she's bought her," I reply, feeling my heart start to sink, "that means..."
"Obviously she's dead," he says, twisting something on the crown. "Yes, that's..." Pausing, he turns to me, and it's as if he's only just realized the implications of the news. "I'm sorry," he adds. "I should have found a more sensitive way to break that news to you, shouldn't I? I'm afraid that's not one of my strong points."
"Simeon strangled me," I say after a moment, as the memory finally becomes clear again. "No, that's not quite right," I add. "He garrotted me with some kind of chain. I remember now... Alexander Medion wasn't the first person who killed me. It was Simeon, coming up behind me while I was drying off after a shower. The chain was wet and cold, and I felt it crushing my -" Reaching up, I place a hand on the side of my neck. "I fought back so hard," I continue, with tears in my eyes, "but there was nothing I could do."
"I only became aware of his activities a short while ago," Robinson replies. "I imagine he's had a lot of victims over the years, and my initial investigation suggests that before he ran that place, his father was in charge, and before that the same family owned a factory on the same site. I imagine that at some point, one of Simeon's ancestors realized that ghosts were more productive workers than living, breathing employees. When their original business dried up, they switched to prostitution. I'm sure there are a lot of ghosts in the building, waiting to be set free."
"He told me I had no choice," I continue. "He said that if I tried to leave, he'd make me burn forever. I wanted to prove him wrong, and to hurt him, but over time I came to accept the situation. It was like it became inevitable, and there was nothing I could do. When I was sold on to Carmella, I even began to miss Simeon a little." Again, I touch the side of my neck as I relive the moment when I died. "How could I have let him do all those things to me?"
"Simeon Wilde is a monster," Robinson replies. "I don't mean that he has any paranormal qualities, because he certainly doesn't. He's the worst kind of monster, in my view: a living human with no regard for life, no regard for other people, and a black little heart beating in his chest."
"If he hurt her..." I start to say.
"We'll get to Simeon soon," Robinson continues, putting the crown down and unplugging it from the cigarette lighter. "Right now, our priority is to deal with the dam. All of this mess, everything that's happening, is linked to the upsurge in paranormal activity associated with the draining of the river. The ghosts of London are jumpy, and they're angry, and we need to do something about that."
"My sister -"
"Fortunately," he continues, starting the engine, "we have time to stop off on the way and sort out a few other matters. I'm working on a plan to deal with the dam, and I need some distractions to get my mind working properly."
"I have to go and get Katie," I say, reaching out to open the door.
"Way ahead of you," he replies, hitting the gas pedal and sending the car lurching forward with spinning wheels. "It's time we paid a visit to that massage parlor," he continues as we speed along the street. "I'm starting to see how all these things are coming together, and I don't like it."
Chapter Three
Katie
Dipping my fingertips into the bowl of warm oil, I take a moment to enjoy the heat before lifting my hands out and placing them against Albert Moorgrave's ice-cold skin. The change in temperature is striking, as is the fact that as I run my hands over his back, I can tell that his heart isn't beating.
"There, Mr. Moorgrave," Carmella says as she works on the other side of his shoulder. "How's this for service? It's like you're getting two massages for the price of one, isn't it?"
Instead of replying properly, Moorgrave merely lets out a contented murmur that makes plain the fact that he's enjoying himself.
"I can feel the tension in your muscles," Carmella continues as she spreads more oil across his back. She's talking to him almost as if he's a child. "It's a good job you came to see us today, or you might have ended up with some real damage. It's such a shame that the world brings so many worries to us all. Still, we must pamper ourselves whenever we get the chance. What would life be like if we never got to indulge our desires?"
Letting out a faint grunt, Moorgrave suddenly starts turning over until he's flat on his back, with his naked body fully exposed.
"Of course," Carmella says with a smile, glancing down at his stiff little penis. "I always like to make sure that every customer leaves feeling satisfied." She glances at me. "This is one of the most important things that you need to learn today, Katie. We're here to serve the customers, and we can only be happy if they're happy. Mr. Moorgrave, for example, has been coming to us for many years, and although his circumstances seem to have changed a little in the past few days, I'm certain that our association can continue for quite some time to come."
Ignoring the sound of voices out in the hallway, I try to focus on Moorgrave's body. Placing some more warm oil on his chest, I can't help but notice that his eyes are fixed on me with unrelenting attention.
"Katie," Carmella says after a moment, lowering her voice, "would you like to do the honors?"
Moorgrave lets out a faint grunt, as if to encourage me.
"You can't go in there!" the receptionist calls out suddenly.
"One moment," Carmella tells Moorgrave, before heading across the room. Before she can get out into the corridor, however, the door opens and a tall, good-looking man in a perfectly-fitted suit steps forward, blocking the exit and immediately glancing around the room.
"You're dead," he says to me, before turning to Moorgrave, "so are you." He turns to Carmella. "But you, Ms. Mellioni, are very much alive."
Sitting up, Moorgrave stares at the intruder for a moment with wild, angry eyes.
"Calm down," the man says, grabbing a towel and tossing it over Moorgrave's naked body. "And cover yourself up, for God's sake."
"This is an outrage," Carmella says firmly, trying to push the man out of the room.
"You're right," he replies, grabbing her arm and pushing her against the wall, "it is an outrage, and it's time it was stopped."
"If you don't let go of me," she replies, trying to twist free from his grip, "I'll -"
"You'll what?" he asks. "Call the police? I'm sure they'd be very interested in this little operation. Or would you call some other friends? Perhaps someone who's more amenable to your line of work?"
"Katie," Carmella says, turning
to me. "I want you to go and find Simeon and tell him to get over here!"
Before I can even question her order, I turn to obey, but after a moment I finally realize that there's no way in hell I'm going anywhere near Simeon again. The fog in my mind is still strong, but I feel as if it's slowly starting to clear.
"Katie!" she shouts. "That's an order!"
"It's not," the man replies with a smile. "It's a desperate last throw of the dice, and it's not going to work." Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out a pair of handcuffs, which he quickly attaches to Carmella and uses to handcuff her to one of the water pipes. Heading over to the table, he grabs hold of one end and pulls it to the other side of the room before handcuffing Moorgrave to another set of pipes. "There," he mutters, taking a step back and watching as they both struggle to get free. "Somewhat poetic, don't you think?"
"Release me immediately!" Carmella shouts.
After tugging on the handcuffs for a moment, Moorgrave climbs off the table and lunges toward us, but his oily feet slip from under him and he comes crashing down hard.
"I have someone waiting outside to talk to you," the intruder says, turning to me. "Why don't you go and see her while I finish off in here? It could get a little messy." He smiles as Moorgrave howls with frustration.
Chapter Four
Rachel
"I'm fine," she says quietly, barely meeting my gaze. "Really. It's... There's no way to change it, so why get stressed?"
Sitting on the steps of the massage parlor, I have my arm around Katie's shoulder in a desperate attempt to make her feel better. The truth, however, is that my little sister has changed since the last time I saw her. For one thing, she looks older and more tired, with a hint of the kind of world-weary cynicism that used to be so conspicuously missing from her character; for another, she has that unmistakable cold-eyed look of someone who already died.
"I should have been there for you," I tell her. "I should have met you as soon as you arrived in London."
"It wouldn't have changed anything," she replies, clearly trying to restrain her anger.
"Are you kidding?" I continue. "It would have changed everything!" I wait for her to say something, but she seems to be lost in thought, staring down at her feet rather than looking at me. "You wouldn't have got mixed up with Simeon Wilde, for one thing," I continue, "and then you'd still be -" I pause for a moment as I realize the full extent of what happened to her. She's my sister, and I should have looked after her better.
"I'd still be alive?" she asks, finally turning to me. "Well, yeah, I guess there's that. But you weren't around, were you? I mean, I'm not trying to make you feel bad, and I'm not saying you're a bad sister, but the basic truth is that you weren't around when I needed you. You didn't even answer your emails."
"I was busy -"
"And I understand that," she continues, interrupting me. There's obvious bitterness in her voice, and I feel as if there's some kind of divide between us. "You were too busy to help me, and you were too busy to come and find me in time, and you were too busy to give me your new address. You were busy, I get it." She pauses. "I shouldn't have come at all," she adds. "I should have just stayed at home with Mum and Dad. At least I was alive."
"No," I reply, pulling her closer. "That was never an option."
"It was better than being dead in London," she replies. "I mean, when I was at home, I thought there was nothing else that could be worse." A sad smile crosses her lips. "I guess I was wrong, huh? Naive, too. I mean, look at us, Rachel. We both ran away to London, and we both ended up dead."
"I should never have left you behind," I continue. "I should have brought you with me when I came to London. I just thought it'd be better if I had a chance to sort things out first, but I never forgot about you, Katie. I never stopped wanting to get you away from Mum and Dad."
"You said you'd send for me," she replies. "When you left home, you said you'd get yourself settled in London and then you'd send for me." She pulls away. "I waited. I thought it'd be a week or two at the most, and then after a month I thought you'd still come and get me, but you didn't. You got out, and you left me to live there alone with Mum and Dad. Do you have any idea how much angrier they got once they realized you'd managed to get away? Dad was fuming, and you know how he gets when he's mad."
"I was going to send for you," I tell her, with tears in my eyes, "but everything was just so crazy. I got mixed up with the wrong people, and then I ended up here, working all day every day and not realizing that I was..." I pause as I realize that none of this is doing anything to calm her sense of betrayal. "I should have done better," I continue after a moment. "I'm sorry, Katie. I wanted to get you away from them, but -"
"He's worse now," she says suddenly.
I pause. "Dad?" I ask eventually, even though a part of me really doesn't want to know.
She nods.
"And Mum?"
"She's the same as always," she replies. "She just turns the TV up a little louder so she can pretend not to hear anything." She pauses. "After you left, Dad got into this rage that seemed like it was never going to end. It went on for weeks, and he'd come to my room every night. He never got tired, either. I swear to God, after a while, it didn't even hurt anymore. I just let him hit me, and then when he went back downstairs, I used to work on my plan to run away. I had it all worked out. Hell, I even laminated my stupid maps so they couldn't get soggy. Everything went perfectly until..." She pauses.
"Until what?" I ask.
"Until the part where I came to your flat to find you," she continues, with a hint of steel in her voice. "That's where it all fell apart. I guess I shouldn't have relied on you, huh?"
We sit in silence for a moment.
"I was going to send you a message when I had my shit together," I say eventually. "I'd found a decent flat, and I just wanted to wait a few more weeks until I had the cash together. There wasn't a spare room, but I was going to let you crash on the sofa and I thought maybe we could both find jobs somewhere, away from this place. I had it all mapped out, but somehow everything seemed to fade into the background. No matter how hard I tried, something seemed to be holding me back. It was like a kind of fog in my mind, slowly eating away at everything I cared about."
"You don't have to explain," she says calmly.
"I want you to understand -"
"I do," she continues. "You wanted to help me, but things got in the way. It's okay. I can see how that would happen. It sucks, but hey, there's no point trying to turn back the clock."
"It's done," Robinson says as he steps out of the massage parlor.
"What do you mean?" I ask, getting to my feet and peering back through the door. "Where's Carmella?"
"In her own personal hell," he replies, with a hint of a smile. "I like to dole out a little irony with my justice. It's so much more fulfilling than locking someone away, and I think it helps to harmonize the forces of the universe in some small but significant way."
"Did you kill her?" I ask.
He shakes his head.
"Then -"
"I'm sure she and Mr. Moorgrave will be very happy together," he continues. "Don't worry, I arranged things so that Moorgrave can't actually reach her physically, but he's not exactly sparkling company and the smell is only going to get worse as he starts to rot. I turned the heat right up as well, it's like a sauna in there."
"So you're just going to leave them there?" I ask. "Handcuffed on opposite sides of the room until someone finds them?"
"No-one's going to find them," he replies. "Besides, I might have handcuffed them to the water pipes, but I was kind enough to leave Carmella an escape route. There's a hacksaw on the table. It won't cut through the handcuffs or the pipes, but it'll work on bones. When she gets desperate enough, she'll realize that maybe it might be worth sacrificing her own left hand in order to get out of that room."
I open my mouth to ask him what exactly happened, but at that moment I hear Carmella calling from inside, begging one of us t
o go back in and help her. Figuring that maybe I don't want to know the exact details, I reach out and close the door, but moments later I hear Carmella let out an anguished scream.
"That was quick," Robinson says with a smile. "It'll take a few minutes, I'm sure, and it's going to hurt a lot more once she gets through to the bone. I had the misfortune of watching a man cut his own hand off once, and it wasn't pleasant. You'd be surprised how much blood came out. I mean, obviously you'd expect there to be blood, but there was a hell of a lot. Still, she'll survive, which is more than can be said for a lot of the girls who passed through this place over the years."
"Now what?" I ask, trying to ignore Carmella's continued cries of pain, and the thought of her sawing her hand off.
"Now we go and take care of Simeon Wilde," he replies. "You don't need to come, though. I understand if you'd rather not see his face again."
"I want to be there," I tell him. "I want to see that bastard suffer."
"And your sister?" he asks, turning to look over at Katie.
"What are you going to do to him?" she asks.
"She can't go," I say firmly. "She's already seen enough."
"You're not in charge of me," she replies.
"Please -"
"I want to go with you," she says, turning to Robinson with a petulant, angry look on her face. "I'm not a kid. I can make my own decisions. Are you going to make him suffer?"
"I'm going to make sure that he doesn't hurt anyone else," Robinson replies calmly.
"Are you going to kill him?" she continues. "Or are you going to do something worse to him, like you did to Carmella? I want to watch."
"I'm going to do whatever's necessary to deal with him," he replies. "He's caused a lot of pain to a lot of people, and something needs to balance it all out."
